


The Kings of Getting Laid

by tobylove (orphan_account)



Series: Ronnie & Clyde [3]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Crushes, F/F, F/M, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, just young adults being young adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tobylove
Summary: Stan is determined to lose his virginity by his 21st birthday.Good thing he's (not) best friends with the king of getting laid.





	1. Kaleidoscope Kicks

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be all over the damn place. i hope you guys enjoy the ride anyways
> 
> rated m for cursing, drugs and alcohol, future sex scenes... you know, the works :-0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie proposes the idea in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is wonky, i've just been feeling terrible and all, with writer's block and de-motivation. again, this is just another impromptu-thing that popped in my head?

My name is Stanley.

I like math, and science, and crocheting, and reading academic articles--and most of all, _birds._ I like reading about them. I like looking them up in my bird encyclopedia. I like petting their little heads and feeding them. I like playing peek-a-boo with them. I like when my roommate, Richie, buys me little bird plushies for Hanukkah.

Let's see. What else is there to me.

This is harder than I thought. It's difficult to think of positive things to say about somebody that you hate. I think I'm shy and nice. I have OCD. I'm nerdy and introverted... but I don't think in a good way. My humor is dryer than my DMs.

My birthday is on December 22nd.

I'll be 21, and I would still have not lost my virginity.

Go ahead. Laugh it up. Honestly, I'm laughing too. Normally stuff like this is reserved for shut-ins or people with bad social skills and the like... but I don't necessarily think I'm either of those. It's just that people really have a hard time getting along with me. Liking me. Being able to tolerate me. And it hurts; seeing my friends who are social butterflies and have the proverbial wings that I've always wanted--just a different set--be able to make tons of friends and be the literal life of the party. I'm attracted to personalities like that, I suppose.

Let's go back to Richie. He works a triple shift of roommate, best friend, and proverbial Social Butterfly. Any room that he saunters into he can get the attention of a crowd. People get along with him easily, seamlessly--things that I couldn't begin to fathom. I was initially attracted to Richie because he was everything that I lacked. And he got my attention. As he seemed to do to everybody else.

So he came into my room with his crooked smile, regarding me slumped over in my chair like a worn jacket. I felt spacey and out of it--and if we're calling a spade a spade, I wasn't in the mood for any of his antics today. But he didn't seem to catch onto it. He rose my chin up so I would look at him, and then ruffled my hair.

"Why you look so down in the dumps, Buttercup?" he asked. But I'm sure he already knew the answer.

"Nothing," I muttered. "Please leave me alone." Albeit, it was a little dramatic--but things are hard, okay.

He didn't falter. "Aww. Boo. Come on, Owl City. Are you still upset over the whole 'cherry boy' thing?"

Why the fuck did he have to remind me? Bowers the Idiot King found out about my... _misfortune,_ and decided that our _entire college campus_ needed to know. So he took a can of red spray paint and wrote ' _Cherry Boy'_ all over my windshield. He even drew a little cherry alongside. You know--just to make sure people got the memo.

I sighed miserably. "Well now that you bring it up again, I _kinda_ am."

Richie sat down and leaned back on my bed. "That's a closeted boy power move right there. The only person that would care enough to go through all that trouble is a guy who has the hots for you."

"Fucking _gross._ "

He laughed shrilly. "You're right. I wouldn't be too fucked up about it. Seriously, Stanny Manny. We don't call him Bowers the Idiot King for nothin’. That's why he always gets his ass beat by Mario and Luigi." He smirked, winked, and then went back to his disposition. "But what, the Bill Thing didn't work out?" 

I smiled just a bit at the references, but then my smile disappeared as soon as it appeared. "I mean. Nah, not really. Well... by that, I mean _not at all_. We're still friends and everything; don't get me wrong. But we started fooling around..."

"And?"

"I threw up on his shoes."

Richie's shrill little giggles turned into great big guffaws. "I'm sorry for laughing at your misfortune, Stanley. But what in the actual _fuck?_ "

"I psyched myself out and his pillowcases weren't on all the way and I looked on his walls and one of his picture frames were crooked and the sheets and the blanket were two different colors and..." I wrung my hands through my hair. "I dunno. I just couldn't do it. It all made me feel really anxious and sick. So I threw up. All over his shoes. His _new_ shoes. He just laughed it off, being Bill. But I was so embarrassed."

And there was reason to be embarrassed as well. Since I got my braces, my dentist told me to stay away from candy. But I just couldn't stray off the Starbursts. I eat them in the same order every time--red, yellow, orange, then pink. I had turned his clean, white Nikes into some terrible painting; these awful kaleidoscope kicks.

That was a couple of weeks ago. We haven't tried anything since.

I felt Richie's empathy from across the room; he got up from my bed and walked over to my chair. He wrapped his skinny, tattooed arms around me; put his head on my shoulder. "Aww. I'm sorry, Stan the Man. Mmm, it all makes sense now, though. _That_ must be why Bill texted me and asked me to tell you he was sorry."

I chuckled despite myself, but it sounded more like a scoff. Sorry for _what?_ He didn't even do anything wrong, and he was still trying to spare my feelings? That's _my_ dumb-ass fault for going and psyching myself out. It was me. It was my fault. And the worst thing about it is... I was so _close._ To seeing what it was like. To seeing what I was missing out on. To feeling special to someone. Feeling special to _Bill._ It's a privilege--having the attention and affections of a guy like him. And I fucked it up. 

I swallowed back tears, and answered the only way I knew how. "What is he even sorry for."

Richie gave me an exaggerated shrug. "Iunno. But he seemed really upset. He thought he did something to make you mad at him, or something."

"What? I thought _he_ was mad at _me_."

"I think it's all one big clusterfuck of confusion," Richie said, and waved his hands around in front of his face. "But I'll tell you what, Stanny. Even if you and ole' Big Bill don't choke the chicken together... you're gonna do it with _somebody,_ goddammit. A boyfriend, a fuck buddy, a one-night stand, a _somebody._ By your birthday. We have all year. You feel me?"

I looked up at him. "Wait... you're going to help me lose my virginity?"

"Yep!" He grinned, a mischievous light glinting in his eye. "But unfortunately, I can't help you _directly,_ if you catch my drift. I have my sights on a little cutie in my Intro to Photography class. So no dice on that--"

"The fact that you think I would even _want_ to have sex with you is--"

"Beggars can't be choosers, baby face. But really! It's simple. It's quick. All you've gotta do is follow a few easy steps. And _boom!_ Like magic, you'll be _just like_ your mentor: A King at Getting Laid."

 _"The King at Getting Laid?"_ I asked, and raised an eyebrow, and laughed. And even though Richie was still smiling, and joking around... I could see that his eyes were dark and wide. They were set on actually doing this, for _some_ fucking reason. He was actually up for the task of helping me do this, because I wouldn't shut the hell up about it. But also because I wanted to try, and he wanted to make me happy... and at the end of the day, that's what best friends are for.

Richie nodded his head, excited now, and took one of the notebooks from my desk. He took a pen and opened it to a clean page, writing at the top of the page in his sprawling handwriting. Then, he numbered the lines, carefully, from 1-10. He talked through them as he went:

**How to Become a King ™ **

**1.) Put yourself out there:** "This is easier said than done," Richie explained to me. Of course, I _already_ knew the deal. "You don't gotta go on like, 47 fucking dates a week. But show people you're available! That you're single and ready to mingle!" He smirked. "Or have some fun."

 **2.) Boy, you gotta relax:** "Can't let those nerves get to you, Stanny. This one's a little hard, too. I know, it's nerve-wracking as _fuck,_ with it being your first time and all. And anxiety is a bitch. But just try to get in the moment, go with the flow, and let Aphrodite _sing,_ baby."

 **3.) Learn the Art of Seduction:** "You're _sexy,_ ya little tiger cub! Show them dudes how sexy you really are. Flip all your hair to one side. Wink and do your cute little half-smiles. Play with your straws with your tongue and shit. Giggle at this dude's jokes. You know, the works. It'll make him wanna work to impress you. But make him work _hard._ You're an art museum--he don't get no free admission."

 **4.) Liquid Courage the Cowardly Dog:** Richie laughed. "I gotta do this one too, depending on who I'm talking to. Like that cutie from my Photography class. But just because you drink before, that doesn't _actually_ mean you're cowardly. I just thought the name was cool. But alcohol can definitely loosen you up! Lowered inhibitions, oh my."

 **5.) Things get awkward. Laugh it off:** "Channel your Inner Bill. You puked on this guy's shoes and he was still all laughs. Don't be ashamed of your anxiety, or if your OCD is being a bitch to you. There's nothing to be ashamed of! Laughter is the best medicine. You guys can bond over that fear."

 **6.) Don't be discouraged by a 'no':** "For every guy that says no, there's gonna be ten guys that wanna stick it in ya. So don't let one guy ruin the whole bunch. Besides, even if this all fails and everybody says no--which I doubt, but still--losing your V Card ain't all that. It doesn't make you worthless if you don't lose it!"

 **7.) Be emboldened by a 'yes':** "This one's easy. Just go for it, baby!"

 **8.) DON'T fake it till you make it:** "What I mean by this is: be yourself! Don't try to be somebody else just to make somebody happy. If you feel like you have to, that just weeds out the people who _don't_ deserve your fucking time. And after everything, you're still you. You're a great guy. People will see that."

 **9.) Have fun:** "Get in the moment! Tell them what you like and what you don't like and what works and what doesn't and moan real loud and try to make it the best that you can!"

 

and the last one, he wrote, darkened it up, circled it twice, _and_ put little lines sprouting from the words like little beams of sunlight, simply said:

**10.) Wear your crown.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan: so why do they call it a cherry anyways? Why do you have to "pop" it. That's so violent


	2. Care Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's already a potential opening for Stan to gain his crown, and Richie swoops in for the kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel a lot better today; mental illness sucks, you know?
> 
> also i know i've said it before but god DAMN do i love benjamin hanscom and michael hanlon

Hi! I'm Edward, but all my friends just call me Eddie.

People call me the most fun pint-sized person in the world. I try my best to stay the cleanest and healthiest that I can be. I like sports; track and gymnastics--even though my asthma doesn't--and I was a cheerleader in high school. I can navigate my way around _any_ city (kinda creeps people out; very fun to talk about at parties) and my driver's record is _flawless_. As you can see, I'm oddly proud of that.

I'm a Scorpio, if zodiacs are your taste. My birthday's in November, on the 17th. I'll be 22. And if nothing changes by that time, then I'll still be a virgin.

That's fine, though! I'm in no rush. I've had boyfriends before, but something always seemed to come up in those regards. Which means that I've probably dodged a lot of bullets. I dunno... I don't have the best track record with guys.

Bill always has said that it's for the better; wait for somebody that I can trust and that I really like. Mike had joked around that I was saving myself for marriage, like he is (another joke, I'm sure). But they have both sat me down on separate occasions, when I would sometimes sniffle and cry and wonder if there was something wrong with me; if I wasn't cute enough or firey enough for these guys to want me. And they would give me the same advice. They're the two most important guys in my life, so of course I believe them. I listen to their advice and take it to heart.

I'm willing to wait for it.

Which is why I wasn't thrilled when Bill came up to me, giddy and gussied up, wanting me to come with him to Bev and Shanita's party.

"No," I told him, and I saw the inklings of an incoming frown. But then I saw his smile light up when I said: "You _know_ how I feel about parties."

"You _love_ them," he said. "C'mon, please? You may have fun! And you can bring Michael, if you want. I've already invited Ben! Makes since for his roommate to come too, right?"

The thought of bringing Mike did make me feel a little better. But then I thought about it some more. "Eh, I dunno Big Bill... Mike's not a party guy. I didn't think Benjamin was, either. But hey, you know him better than me. But I know Mike. I really don't think he'll like it. He's a part of the Christian Outreach group. He wears a necklace with a _cross_ on it everyday, for God's sake."

"So? He's also President of the GSA, isn't he?" Bill pointed out. Then he smirked. "Besides, Christian people are always the ones that have the most fun."

I crossed my arms. "That's not always true."

"Eddie! Just ask him? Please?" He interlocked his hands together, gave me puppy eyes, and tried to get down on his knees in front of me before I stopped him, laughing a little bit.

"Okay, don't do that," I muttered. I put my hands up in defeat. "I'll ask him! I'll ask him! And I'll come. _Jeez_."

"Oh, yay!" Bill said, and pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back... but I didn't think that this was going to go well. Stupid best friend and his stupid charm.

But in the end, I'm glad that I agreed.

* * *

That guy in my Photography class was really starting to get under my skin.

He would always stare at me, a smirk playing on his lips... like he knew something that I didn't. Whenever I would snap my head up and actually look at him, he wouldn't back down--he would just give me a wink. Sometimes he would blow a kiss. Every time, I would blush and look away.

Today was no different. He had his head tilted, staring, looking over in our direction. I sighed and looked over to Mike, who smiled as soon as I did.

"Why the _fuck_ is he doing that," I whispered. "I'm so annoyed. Why does he single me out all the time."

"I think he likes you," Mike whispered back, and then his shoulders shook from his deep, rumbling chuckles. "Like, a _lot_."

"Why?" I said aloud, and I saw the guy--Richard, I think his name was--raise his eyebrows a little in surprise. I lowered my voice again. "I haven't spoken to him a day in my life. He doesn't have a reason _to_ like me, Mike. I don't _understand._ "

"Have you ever considered that you're _cute_?" Mike teased. "I mean, dudes come up to me all the time, asking if you're my boyfriend. You're mad cute, Eddie. It's really not hard to see. This guy is no different."

"Yeah, _he's no different_ ," I echoed, a little sharper. I was trying to convince him, but maybe I was also trying to convince myself. I shook my head with another sigh. "Well, anyway! New subject. Billy is dragging me to Bev and Shanita's party. Please come with me?"

"Okay," Mike said, and smiled again.

I blinked. "Wait, _what?_ I thought I would have to beg a little harder."

He laughed again and waved both of his hands. " _Psshhhh,_ nah. I don't mind coming if it'll make you happy. 'Sides, Ben already said that I don't really have a choice. In since _he_ has to go, _I_ have to go. It's Best Friends Dragging You to Parties Day. Did you _not_ know?"

I finally joined in on his laughter and pushed him lightly. But then I pulled him into a hug. "You're so silly. I love you. I'm just gonna pretend that you're coming out of the goodness of your heart, and not because you're held against your will. So thank you, Mikey."

"Hey, you don't have to pretend on that," he said, and patted me on the back. "But no problem; I love you, too!"

Even though I wasn't turned towards him anymore, I could sense the guy, Richard, his eyes on us. Hot energy seemed to radiate from his direction.

Maybe he was jealous.

 

But then he came up to me after class. Mike had a meeting to go to at the library--so he waited until I was alone.

 _"Hello,"_ he said, and smirked.

"Goodbye," I said back, ducking underneath his arms so I could walk out of the door. He whipped around and grabbed my be the wrist, very lightly. I blushed without realizing I was or why I did.

"Wait!" he said, a little sadly. "C'mon, don't be that way. I just wanna have a little chat."

I sighed. Even though I continued to walk, I let him step into pace with me. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Well for _one,_ I'm Richie," he said (even though I did _not_ ask), and put his hands up to his chest in an over-exaggerated manner. A big grin spread across his face. "And I would l _ove_ to remember what your name is. For _two,_ that guy--is he your boyfriend?"

"It's Eddie. And _what_ guy?"

Richie started playing what I assumed to be charades. He flexed at different angles in some pantomime. "Ya know. That dude you sit by everyday in Photography. Big strong dude. Mitchell or something. He your man?"

I squinted my eyes. " _Michael?_ No. He's like, one of my best friends. Why? Why do you care?"

"Oh _I dunno_ , my dear Eds," Richie grinned. "Also, forgive me if I'm wrong. But I heard that you're attending Ms. Marsh and Ms. Brown's party, and I thought that a guy like you should _definitely_ have an escort."

"Yeah, I have one. I just asked him in class. Also, _what_ did I tell you my name was?"

"Eds?" he asked. He seemed genuinely confused. Or maybe he was a good actor.

I shook my head, trying not to sigh for what seemed like the millionth time today. "Okay, forget it." My bite was ineffective, because this guy was obviously still going to bark. So I had to switch up my tactics to get him to leave me alone. "Look, Richie, I appreciate what you're trying to do. Really, I do. But I'm just not in--"

 _"Big Bill!"_ Richie exclaimed--loudly. Seriously, my ears were ringing--and cut me off before I could even properly turn him down. How he spotted Bill before I did, I wouldn't be able to tell. Maybe it was those magnifying glasses sitting on his face. He linked arms with me (which I didn't even fight at this point) and walked us over to them. Bill smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. He seemed nervous. Shit, I would be too, seeing _this_ guy.

"I see you made a new friend," Bill said when we made it over, looking over in my direction with a wink. "Hi, Richie!"

"He's not really my friend, so," I mumbled. Neither of them seemed to hear me.

"Heyo, Billiam! Stan told me the whole thing with you and him didn't work out," Richie continued. It seemed like maybe he was trying to embarrass Bill (or maybe he was just so dense he didn't know not to tell strangers his business). But it didn't seem malicious; he was all smiles.

"Would you _not_ say it so loudly?" Bill said, his eyes darting around, and he let out a little nervous laugh. "It's my fault; I made him uncomfortable. You _sure_ he's not mad at me?"

"Oh, he's _super_ mad at you," Richie said. "Super duper _duper_ mad. _Pissed._ " And even though I could tell he was being facetious, Bill's eyes still widened with guilt and fear. Poor guy, he had too much empathy.

At this part in the conversation, I will admit that I didn't really know what they were talking about. I only had the slightest idea of who Stan was--some guy that went to Bill's meetings sometimes that he thought was really cute. I had only seen him in passing, if I was thinking about the same guy. I don't know what Bill did to make him uncomfortable, or what he was blaming himself for... but I'm sure it couldn't be too bad.

"Oh god," Bill said, and (sincerely) put his hands up against his chest. "Really? _Shit._ Please tell him I'm sorry. Is there _any way_ I can make him forgive me?"

"Nope!" Richie chirped. Then he put his hand up to his chin and looked to the side. "Well, there's _one_ thing you could do."

Bill and I looked at him. I heard Bill sniffle.

"What?" Bill finally asked.

"You could let me and Stan... go to this party!" He waved his hands in a non-verbal _ta-daaaa!_

I deadpanned. I'm pretty sure if there was a camera around, I would've looked straight into as if I were in The Office. Was this dude _serious?_ He (not-so) mistakenly guilt-tripped my best friend... over _this?_

Bill chuckled. And then he ran his hands through his hair and really laughed. He seemed more relieved than anything, now that he caught on that Richie wasn't actually being serious. "Who are you doing this for, Rich? You and Stan... or just you? Stan doesn't even like parties. _At all_. _You_ know this, of _all_ people. So are you trying to go because of..." he looked over at me again and grinned. "...a certain person?"

"I plead the fifth. Just let us come to the party, Ed Sheeran," Richie said, dodging the implications. "I'll ruin your career."

Bill laughed so hard he snorted. "I don't look like Ed Sheeran!"

"You're _red-headed_ like Ed Sheeran!"

It was time for me to add my two-cents. "You're only going to try to get a rise out of me. Do you even know Bev _or_ Shanita?"

"I know them both," Richie said. Then he smirked. "Shan's in my Theater class. Bev's in my Speech Comm. Super swell ladies. But you caught me--such a smart boy."

I blushed, but that was the only satisfaction I was going to give him. I crossed my arms again. "Thanks. I know."

Then, Richie started to crack. And by that, I started to see him falter. And when you didn't give in to his charm, he seemed to wear his insecurities on his sleeve. "Come on. Seriously? You'd wanna go with Care Bear #1 and #2, but not _me?_ "

"Well, to their defense, Ben's the Vice President of my Literature Club," Bill said, still smiling. "And Michael and Eddie are really close."

"Bill, seriously. _Listen_ to yourself. You would seriously rather invite Michael's Ark and Ben the Banana Boy?" He looked at me, _directly_ at me, right into my eyes. "Why? Because they're not annoying and they work out three times a week?"

My face blushed even deeper than what it was before--to the point where I could feel the heat radiating off my face. The thing is... he didn't even really seem angry, even though he was being really cutting to Ben and Mike. I don't know why he was suddenly getting so defensive--maybe he just told me why without really telling me. He just seemed dejected?

_Hurt._

In a weird, twisted way, I actually liked that he was getting so jealous--because he thought that I would rather prefer a guy like Benjamin or Mike over a guy like him. I thought that it was kind of cute. It gave me the impression that he really cared about my opinion of him, that he could really be interested in me.

"Richie, chill out; I was just kidding!" Bill said, still laughing and all smiles, and he pulled Richie into a quick hug. "It'd actually be really cool if you came. Bev and Shan said the more the merrier. And if Stan wants to come--please, bring him too."

"Awww, okay!" Richie said, and wrapped his arms entirely around Bill. "You know I was just playing too, Big Bill. I don't have any bad blood against ole' Benny or Mikey. I barely even know them!" Then, he looked at me, smirked, untangled himself from Bill... and hugged me, too.

"I'm gonna show you that I'm cool too, Freckles," he said. "I'll prove it to ya, really! Even if you want me to get on my knees and read from the Bible."

"Shut the _hell_ up," I groaned (and Bill laughed some more). I thought he was loud, and pushy, and very annoying, and intrusive... but for some reason, I was actually very excited that he was going to come. I wanted to see how he was going to, in his words, prove it to me.

 _Prove what to you?_ I asked myself later, laying in bed. But then I came to a very quick conclusion. He wanted to prove to me how cool he was, like he said--and that was cool. But he also wanted to prove how much he was attracted to me... and _that_ was cool with me, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie: Bill PLEASE don't let him come


	3. Bloody Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Stan try to have fun and party. They each get two vastly different results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tmi: having bipolar sucks. it's exhausting bc it's so unpredictable; i feel like i'm on a roller coaster all the time and i'm fucking scared of heights
> 
> on a lighter note: sorry these next two chapters are going to be kinda long... but can y'all tell that i LOVE stanlon??? the reddie chapter is next ;-)

"A party, dude? Are you _serious?_ And _Bill's_ gonna be there?" I crossed my arms. "I'm not going."

Richie frowned. "Oh, yes you _are!_ I worked _so unbelievably hard_ to get us an invitation to this party, goddammit. Awe you gonna just let me thwow that away?"

"Yep."

"C'mon--look on the bright side! Now you can woo all of guys with your old Boy Scout pictures."

I thought about it: a little me, untamed curly hair in every direction on my head, a wide half-smile, all of my badges slung over my shoulder. A backpack in my hands. Scrapes all over my legs and knees. That would definitely make _any_ guy want to fuck me, no doubt--I was an Eagle Scout when I was like, 6, and stayed in the program until I was 12. I left right after my Bar Mitzvah. But I stayed with the Eagles and mentored for the younger boys until I graduated from high school. With that being said, I know how to tie _knots_ and shit. All _types_ of knots. Any knot that Daddy's little heart desires.

Kinky.

Moving on (before I got too excited about the knots), I didn't even dignify Richie with an adequate response. We both knew that I had already lost. My interest was piqued; there was investment now. So I just sighed and said: "I fucking _hate_ you."

Richie snickered and pulled out the aforementioned picture that I had been thinking about--my Eagle Scout one with the cut legs and knees. As if he had been reading my mind. "Hey, wasn't this the year that whole marshmallow thing happened?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Yeah, it was," I said... and I couldn't help but to wonder what his knack was for always bringing embarrassing shit up. We had been making s'mores, and I got too close to the campfire. My shoes lit up like tacky wallpaper. I remember screaming and screaming and I wouldn't stop. I had never been that scared in my fucking life. And my dad was pissed at me; he had _just_ bought those shoes. All the other kids made fun of me for the rest of the summer. Every time they would talk about me, they would call me--

"Don't fucking call me that Rich--I know you're thinking about it, but I'm _serious_ ," I warned.

"stanisnotonfire," Richie said anyway, on impulse, and giggled until he snorted.

Yeah. They would call me _that._

After making the back of Richie's neck a red shade that I was satisfied by, we threw on some clothes in our respective rooms. Then we met back in the living room. Richie took one look at me, threw his head back, and laughed.

"Yo, I'm not letting you go like that," he said.

I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing my favorite green shirt--the long-sleeved button-down one, with the white buttons. I tucked it in and put on a belt and some khakis. And I put on my grey cardigan... because I'm classy. What was so bad about _that?_

"What? What's wrong with it?" I asked aloud.

He smirked and leaned up against the wall. "Pssh. You _always_ wear shit like that. It's literally your everyday dress. You just can't pull dudes like that! You gotta flaunt what you got, Stan. Don't you got some, like... leather or some shit you can wear? Or spandex? Since you're _into_ all that weird shit."

"Right." I squinted my eyes; crossed my arms over my chest. I suddenly felt insecure. "Didn't I see daddy/little shit in _your_ search history?"

"Yeah, and? I was curious!"

"Rich. It's _creepy_."

"I'm not into it! Pure curiosity. I swear! But, even if I _was_ into it--which again, _totally not_ \--then there's nothing wrong with two consenting adults having a little bit of fun."

I waved one of my hands at him dismissively. I didn't want to get into my feelings about that type of stuff--there were a ton of things that got my rocks off, pretty extreme shit that I would probably be too pussy to try in real life. So whatever Richie was into was none of my damn business. Just the whole concept of that wasn't my personal taste.

But anyway.

We were wasting time bickering like some married couple. Rich had told me that the party started at 8. We didn't want to be too early, because that was awkward... but we didn't want to be late, either. But it was already 7:23, and I hadn't even started my check on the apartment yet. I had to do a really quick walkthrough--check the appliances, they're all unplugged; turn off the lights eight times, make sure the stove was off and the fire alarm was on. And make sure the door was locked. Many more things, but I digress.

By the time we left, it was 7:48, so we had a little bit of time. It would only take us about (ironically) eight minutes to get to the party, anyway. Sometimes, life likes to smile down on me.

* * *

"Yo, Rich! Stan! So glad you guys were able to make it!" Bev exclaimed, and put her arms around Richie and I's shoulders. "And early, too. Pretty sure that was all you; wasn't it, Stan?"

"Yeah," I said, suddenly embarrassed... but then I smirked and gave a thumbs up. "Well you know what they say... the early bird gets the worm."

Richie looked over at me like he wanted to boo me off the stage. Shit, he didn't need to boo me--my mind was already making me mentally leave the building. _You fucking idiot, just shut the fuck up, don't say anything else for the rest of the night. Fucking hell._

Bev broke out into sharp, rapid laughter, even wiping her eyes... and that made me feel a _hell_ of a lot better. "Aww! How cute! Shan is making drinks, by the way. Y'all want anything?"

"Blueberry vodka!" Richie yelled.

I shrugged. Alcohol wasn't really my thing. "A Bloody Mary, I guess. Thank you."

Bev smiled and floated into the kitchen, talking to Shanita (who I had only ever really talked to in passing) when she made it there. As soon as Bev had her back turned to us, Richie grinned and grabbed me by my shoulders.

"Remember, baby--The Art of Seduction," he said, and squeezed my shoulders with a playful wink. And now I could tell he wasn't lying about what he said. As in, he was _legitimately_ taking this seriously. "Fuck these dudes with your mind alone. Be yourself; don't be shy, now! _Aaaaaand_ \--"

" _Okay,_ Rich," I laughed. Nervously. _Why was I nervous?_ "Okay, okay."

Richie kept his grin--but he cut his eyes to the side, just in time to watch more people stream into the apartment. We saw Bill with three other guys, and Richie's eyes lit up at the sight of them. He linked arms with me and led us over to them; Bill and his friends--his handsome, perfect, model-worthy friends-- that I had never met before.

Maybe _that's_ why I was nervous.

 _"Hello, gentlemen!"_ Richie exclaimed in his Roman Montyglue Voice. "Eddie Spaghetti, Haystack, Willy Nilly, Mikey Bikey. How are you all on this fine eve?"

"Better--before you showed up and called me _that_ stupid shit," of the guys responded. He was the shortest guy; he looked mousy but strong, and oddly familiar. I think that was Bill's best friend. Everyone in the group laughed, and Bill and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and confirmed my suspicions.

"Eddie, play nice," he said. He didn't get a verbal response--just a huff, but he chuckled again. Was he _always_ in a good mood?

Other than Best Friend Eddie, they all seemed so.

"What-- _I_ don't get a rhyme-y name?" Ben asked, and he was grinning from ear to ear. Okay, I knew who Ben was, a little. We had a class together. And he was VP of the Literature Club. So whenever I used to go visit Bill just to, uh... _hang out,_ normally I would see Ben, too.

Richie slung his arm around Ben's shoulder. "Aww. Don't feel bad, Haystack. Trust me--I sat there thinking of one, but they all sounded stupid. So I just went with what I know!"

"Good enough for me," Ben said, and him and Bill laughed again.

The conversation went like this for a little while--mainly Bill, Richie, and Ben chatting away and making jokes in good fun. Richie would try to hit on Eddie--which at first, it didn't seem that he was biting, but gave Richie a few smiles as the conversation went on (even though he looked like he was trying to force himself _not_ to). I'm not good with social situations like this, especially around people I didn't really know. So I naturally didn't add too much to the conversation.

But neither did the last guy. He smiled and laughed when it was appropriate, but mainly listened patiently and sipped from his cup. And he must've been doing this because he thought I didn't notice... but he was staring at me.

Nothing creepy. Stolen little glances when I looked over to Richie or Bill. A really big smile whenever I actually did have something to say. And he would give me his full, undivided attention. I don't know. It just made me feel really... desired. _I_ _mportant._

I sighed, and glanced back up to Richie and Bill. God, he was _adorable._ I listened to their laughter and I thought about the WWRD scenario: _What Would Richie Do?_ If Richie thought this guy was cute, then Richie would flirt with him. And Stanley was about to fucking follow suit tonight. I crossed my fingers and not only prayed to my God, but to every other one that I could think of, that I wouldn't fuck something up.

I caught him glancing over again... and this time, I caught his gaze. And I smiled. I thought about flipping all of my hair to the side like Richie had said, but I didn't do that. Instead, I bit my lip and ran one of my hands through my hair. That wasn't to be sexy, either--I did that because I was nervous. But it didn't matter... it seemed to work anyway. At least it seemed so. I could see his blush, almost feel it. His eyes darted around the room; everywhere but me. He seemed super embarrassed. Aww, poor guy. How cute.

Would you look at that? Richie was right.

I was having fun.

 

After a little while, I had went and sat on the couch, feeling exhausted from the cheery pace that the other guys were having. Well--Ben, Richie, and Bill. They had those proverbial wings like Richie did; they all jumped from group to group and chatted with almost everybody. Everybody chatted back with the same energy. Eddie and the guy that made me feel important--Michael, I learned his name was--stayed back and talked to each other. They seemed to be going through some sort of crisis, because Michael looked really upset. However, Eddie had been smiling and playfully trying to shoo him off to somewhere. I wondered what that was about.

So I sat alone, near-close to breaking out in some musical number (Stanley in the Bathroom, even though I wasn't in a bathroom), when I got snapped out of my trance.

"I take it this isn't your thing, either?" somebody said to me, their voice so deep and reverberating that I almost didn't understand what they said. It was Michael. He smiled and sat next to me. He and I looked like we had dressed for two _completely_ different occasions. He had on a red sweater and overalls, a black jacket, and workout boots--a little golden chain glittered between his collarbone. He was sitting so close, I could smell his cologne. He smelled so _good._

My mind went about a million other places. But I got over myself quickly. No free admission.

"Oh, uh... nah," I answered. "I kinda got dragged here."

He chuckled--the sound vibrated all the way down my body and made the entire lower half of me feel numb and tingly. He grinned, and his eyes crinkled at the sides. "I did, too. But I'm super awkward, so naturally I don't like doin' stuff like this."

I joined in on his laughter. "Who are you telling."

He kept his grin. I felt him inch just a _little_ closer to me. I felt electric. So he _was_ doing it on purpose. I was playing a game; he was playing it right back.

"I take it alcohol's also not your style? Not really mine, either. Kinda wish it was, but my folks raised me Baptist--so I've got that Sinner's Guilt."

"I thought I was the only prude here that had that problem. I'm Jewish, so I don't drink at all." I scooted closer. Seeing how far I could push this. "Your name is Michael, right?"

He seemed taken aback at me asking his name--but in a good way, like he was pleasantly surprised. "Mmhm! But you can just call me Mike, if you want. And I didn't catch your name, I'm sorry... what was it?"

"Mm. Stanley. Stan."

"Hm... Stanley," he echoed, and I shivered again. My name sounded _so fucking good_ coming out of his mouth.

I smirked--really trying to channel my Inner Richie--and finally scooted so close that our legs were touching. "Yeah. I'll call you Mike, though. If you're more comfortable with that." I put my hand on his thigh. "Or Mikey Bikey."

And I almost psyched myself out from doing any of it, just from pure nerves, just because my heart was beating super fast in my chest... but I'm glad I didn't. I put my hand a little too close to the bullseye there--on accident, in all seriousness... but I could tell that he was hard already.

"You can call me whatever you want," he said... but it sounded shaky, like he was nervous out of his mind. Or trying--and failing--to hold himself back. It was okay, though. Guys like Michael--cute and who seemed so sweet and nice--they were rare to find. He was a king. And I wanted him to give me my crown.

I wondered if he could give me wings.

 

Bev and Shanita had a guest room, so we went in there and locked the door.

It didn't take us long at all. I had been a blink away from cracking and I could tell that he had been, too. He pushed me up against the wall--and I have to admit, I _really_ fucking liked that. He picked me up, let me wrap my legs around his waist, pinning me up between him and the wall--and I liked that, too. We huffed and nibbled lips and groaned in each other's mouths; played in each other's hair. He trailed down; kissed my jawline, sucked on my neck, and put a kiss there.

"Mmm, Michael," I whispered, and we both laughed.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name," he muttered, still smiling, and looked up at me with dark eyes. The way he said it, the way he looked at me... I wanted everyone in the apartment to know what his name was by the time we were done.

"Make me say it again," I whispered again--bordering on a full moan.

Michael stopped for a second, looked back up at me. His eyes were wide and doe-eyed. "Are you sure you wanna go all the way?" he asked me. "If not, then that's totally fine."

"You make it seem like _you_ don't want to," I teased. "Are _you_ sure?"

"I dunno; you tell me," he said back, and smirked. He made sure I had good hold on his waist, then he spun us around to where he was sitting on the edge of the bed and I was in his lap. I giggled as he showered me in more kisses; undid the first few buttons of my shirt. He chuckled into my neck. We kissed; he got up again, laid me on the bed, shimmied between my legs, and kissed me again. I played in his hair some more. It was soft and fluffy and was a great juxtaposition to the hardness below his waist.

One of his hands ran up and down the length of my torso, the other undid my belt. I threw my head back into the sheets, I closed my eyes; he had me so far gone that I didn't even notice it until I didn't feel his hands on me anymore. I heard him let out a muffled groan, but that was it. I felt bare and dejected. I thought maybe he had psyched himself out... but then I saw his hands were covering his nose and mouth. He groaned again.

There was blood dripping between his fingers and down the sleeves of his sweater. Like, a _lot._ It dripped on the sheets. It dripped on my shirt.

His nose was bleeding.

I never thought that two people could separate so quickly. I sat up and pushed myself back in bed; he stepped backwards and touched his back to the wall. His eyes were doing that darting-everywhere motion again--they looked at the door, me, the ceiling, the bed. He wasn't just embarrassed this time. He was _mortified._

I took my shirt off in a haste, folding it as neatly as I could with my shaky hands. I couldn't keep it on--not with it being stained like that. But then the fold wasn't perfect. I was spiraling. _Count something. 2, 4, 6, 8. 8, 4, 6, 2. Count how many curls you can see on his head. The little spirally ones._ I tried to talk to him, get a hold of my breathing... but I didn't want to fuck up anything more than I already had.

 _"Oh, my god--I'm so sorry,"_ he said. Even as he tilted his head back, he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah.. thank you. It happens a lot. Are _you_ okay? I just bled all over your _fucking shirt._ "

And then when I thought about it, the absurdity of it all--me, shirtless, shaking, all of my bird and Legend of Zelda tattoos showing just how cool I really am; Michael, with blood gushing out of his face... it didn't seem so awkward after all. Actually, it was fucking hilarious. Chuckalicious, Richie would say. He also would say--he even wrote it in the Guide--that nothing was awkward if you could laugh it off.

So I started to laugh. Michael was silent for a few seconds, and then he started to laugh, too. I laughed myself dizzy, and him nauseous... so we fixed ourselves up and I took him to the bathroom.

 

"It literally happens _all_ the time," Michael was explaining to me in the bathroom. "Could've picked any different time it wanted, though." And we laughed again. The blood was starting to trickle down. He had the water in the sink running--my wet shirt on one side of the sink, Michael's wrist underneath the stream, on the other. He would alternate wrists; put his left one underneath the water, then the right, as he tried to clean my shirt at the same time.

"It's a cockblock," I joked, and he laughed so hard he snorted. I grinned. "It's a shame. I was having fun."

"Shit... Between you and I, Stanley, I was too." He didn't have to tilt his head so much anymore, in since his nose had virtually stopped bleeding. And he did a really good job at getting the stains out of my shirt, despite the circumstances.

He had given me his jacket to wear, and I zipped it up to the top--and it swallowed me up; I felt cute and tiny, like I was wearing my boyfriend's clothes. I had to keep it zipped though, because I didn't have on any layers underneath except my cardigan, in since my shirt was out of commission.

"I heard that Coke gets blood stains out," he said. He finally turned off the water and wrung more water out of my shirt. "But I dunno how true that is."

I smiled. "I guess I've gotta try it. Uh... thanks for the jacket, Mike. And being so chill about everything."

"You're thanking _me?"_ He laughed again. "You're the one that's being super chill about everything. The jacket? It's no problem at all."

"How do I give it back to you later? I mean, it's _your_ jacket; I feel terrible if I couldn't return it. How would I, though? I don't have your number or anything..."

"We should change that," he said, and didn't smirk, didn't give me some cocky ass grin... he _smiled._

And I blushed like a fucking idiot. Because this was the second guy that I couldn't have sex with because of some freak accident happening--but this time I had on his jacket and he was smiling at me and we laughed about it together and he asked for my number. And he did it so smoothly that I couldn't help but to fall a little in love.

Just a little. We _did_ just meet, after all.

But it still counted, all the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben: lmao where'd your jacket go

**Author's Note:**

> pssst. hey. i love you guys!!!


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